Chapter 19

Late in the afternoon, in a bustling shopping district, Zechart was walking at a slower pace than usual.

The scenery passing by more languidly than normal felt strangely unfamiliar.

Then again, this wasn’t a place he often visited.

The streets were crowded.

It was probably because of the upcoming curfew in a few hours—people were likely trying to buy groceries before then.

Merchants calling out from every direction made the street even more chaotic.

It was in the midst of these faint, drifting thoughts that he came to a halt.

The person walking a short distance ahead of him had also stopped.

Edith Lindel.

As expected, it was that woman who had brought him here.

She stood in front of a fruit stall, seemingly unaware that she was being followed.

With an innocent expression, she said something to the shopkeeper.

Though he couldn’t hear her voice, her lip movements seemed to say, “Hello.”

“Would you like something?”

As he stared at the woman, someone addressed him—it was the owner of a pastry shop.

Unintentionally, Zechart had stopped right in front of the bakery’s display case.

He considered shaking his head but ended up purchasing a bag of cookies from the stand.

For someone who detested sweets, it was an oddly out-of-character purchase.

Meanwhile, the woman had finished her transaction and was receiving a bag from the fruit vendor.

She began walking again.

Zechart resumed his pursuit.

For someone walking slowly, she moved surprisingly diligently.

A new impression of her surfaced in his mind.

The way she flitted about from shop to shop reminded him of a honeybee chasing after flowers.

The lemon-colored dress she wore and her shining blonde hair only reinforced that impression.

Her shopping ended with a purchase of baby clothes for a newborn.

Leaving the shopping district, the woman sat on a bench in front of the square’s fountain.

She seemed exhausted from carrying her heavy basket.

Zechart, watching her gently pat her own shoulders, quietly sat on a bench across the fountain from her.

They sat facing opposite directions with the fountain between them.

Despite the now fairly close distance, the woman still hadn’t noticed him.

A dense woman.

‘She can’t even sense this level of surveillance, and yet she walks around so fearlessly.’

In truth, he shouldn’t have been here at all.

The aftermath of the recent incident had rippled deeply through the organization, enough to temporarily suspend ongoing missions.

So even Zechart had intended to exercise some restraint.

He was supposed to remain at his hideout until things settled down and keep a low profile.

He never cared much for the internal affairs of the organization, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the hawk-like gaze of Rachel, who had been persistently tailing him.

When news came that Herman Miller’s funeral would be held after the autopsy, Zechart naturally thought of her.

He was a little curious—what had become of the woman who had lost her target?

It had only crossed his mind for a moment, but before he knew it, he was already sitting in the driver’s seat.

He let out a laugh at himself, but even so, he didn’t turn the car around.

In the end, he had come to find her.

“Mind if I sit here?”

A voice suddenly interrupted.

Zechart glanced over to see an elderly woman speaking to the girl.

Edith, who had been sitting in the middle of the bench, shifted to one end.

Her long, loosely hanging hair swayed gently.

“Oh, of course, ma’am. Please, have a seat.”

Once the old woman sat beside her, Zechart turned his gaze forward again.

From behind, he could hear the two women chatting in hushed tones.

“You’re a new face around here.”

“I’m staying with some relatives for a while.”

“Here to earn money?”

“No, just visiting.”

“It’s a dreadful time to be here, what with all that’s happened. The world’s gone mad.”

“They say the funeral’s tomorrow. Things will settle down soon enough, I hope, ma’am.”

“I sure hope so.”

Listening to the bright voice of the woman who, under different circumstances, would have been captured and tortured after assassinating Herman Miller, Zechart opened the bag of cookies he had bought earlier at the shop.

A wave of sugary scent rose up.

He picked one out and brought it to his mouth.

With a light crunch of his front teeth, the cookie crumbled and melted on his tongue.

It was sickeningly sweet—just like the peaceful life the woman was now living, in a timeline he had rewritten with his own hands.

***

By the time Edith neared Sasha’s home, the overcast sky finally broke into rain.

As soon as she opened the front door, Sasha greeted her, towel in hand, and eyes wide with worry at the sight of her soaked clothes.

“Oh no, you’re completely drenched.”

Sasha looked at Edith’s now-blue lips with concern.

“I was getting worried—it’s almost curfew.”

“I was just picking up a few things. Sorry.”

Setting down the shopping bag, Edith rummaged through it and pulled something out for Sasha to see—a tiny, adorable baby onesie.

“Tada! What do you think?”

“Oh my!”

Just then, Karon and Perel emerged into the living room.

Karon was overjoyed, prompting a playful scolding from Sasha for being overly sentimental.

Leaving the happy commotion behind, Edith headed into the kitchen.

She took out the fruit she had bought and began washing it.

Sasha followed her in and began unpacking the rest of the groceries.

“What’s this?”

Edith’s eyes landed on a bag Sasha had picked up.

“Oh, that…”

She hesitated, then replied awkwardly.

“Cookies. Someone gave them to me on the way back.”

“Someone you know?”

“No.”

They were a gift from the old woman at the fountain.

She had spoken endlessly, saying Edith reminded her of her daughter who died during the war.

That was why Edith had taken longer than expected to get home.

“Can I eat one?”

“No. Just in case—don’t. You said it came from a stranger.”

It might have been an overreaction, but caution never hurt, especially since Sasha was pregnant.

When Sasha looked disappointed—clearly craving something sweet—Edith handed her some sliced apple.

The rough, uneven cuts made her feel self-conscious, but Sasha smiled gratefully and accepted them anyway.

Preparing the rest of the food took even longer.

Sasha, being pregnant, moved slowly, and Edith was clumsy in the kitchen.

By the time the four of them sat down for dinner, it was already well past evening.

“Please, eat a lot.”

“Thank you. You must’ve worked hard.”

“Sasha did most of it, really.”

“We’ll take care of the dishes afterward.”

With the warm aroma of food wafting around the table, the four of them exchanged a few pleasantries and began to eat slowly.

Edith reached for the bread beside her first.

As they shared bits of their daily lives over dinner, Edith finally spoke up once the meal was mostly finished.

“Everyone.”

All eyes, drowsy and relaxed from fullness, turned to her.

Her calm voice settled gently over the table.

“I didn’t want to talk about work tonight, just for once… but it seems I don’t have a choice.”

Edith showed a hint of regret.

In truth, this dinner had been meant to be the ‘party’ they hadn’t managed to hold before—a small celebration before the big mission.

She had hoped, if only for a while, to forget the heavy cause they carried and simply enjoy a peaceful evening.

But with plans changing so suddenly, they hadn’t even had time to review their positions.

The one small blessing was that the Stifts’ attention remained focused entirely on the Herman Miller residence, where the incident had occurred.

All their manpower had been drawn there, making it paradoxically easier to move elsewhere.

Perel got up and began clearing the table hastily.

Once the dishes were gone, Karon spread out a map in their place.

“This is the route the funeral procession will take. All carriages and vehicles will be banned during the procession, and the Stifts will be conducting continuous inspections. The actual funeral service will take place in the city hall auditorium. They’ll be holding the postponed medal ceremony there as well. Herman Miller is scheduled to receive a posthumous decoration. During that time, I’ll sneak in disguised as Gross Günther and activate the detonator.”

Karon explained.

“My bomb will go off before Karon’s.”

Perel continued.

“It’s planted near the back gate of city hall. I’m handling that part. Once it explodes, most of the personnel will rush to the rear. Karon can use the chaos to escape.”

Even though they weren’t committing an actual assassination, such drastic tactics were necessary—to make the deception convincing.

If they were going to take credit for something they didn’t do, it had to be dramatic enough to sell the illusion.

“When the chaos reaches its peak, the large Berg flag will be unfurled beneath the clock tower. That’s my part.”

Edith added quietly.

Immediately, worried gazes turned to her.

Although the flag had already been installed and only required cutting a string to release it, her task was the final act—making it the most dangerous of all.

“I’ll join you right after I finish things at the rear gate.”

Perel offered, but Edith shook her head, more firmly than ever before.

“No. Don’t think about anyone else. As soon as you finish your part, leave the city hall. I will too, of course.”

A heavy sigh passed over the table.

Contrary to what Edith had hoped, the ‘party’ ended in solemn silence.

“Well then… good night, everyone.”

It might just be their last.

Edith slowly rose from her seat.